Smushed Grapes
by Deena
Summary: Nagi comes to terms with his feelings for a certain Irish psychopath *shonen ai, angst, sap*


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Smushed Grapes   
A Weiss Kreuz Fanfic  
By Deena (deena_arashi@hotmail.com)  
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~*~Part One~*~  
*****************  
  
I crept across the empty expanse of space to the figure kneeling in the corner. The enormous, white   
room had dwarfed him, so small and wan he appeared. The snowy linoleum floor around him was   
splattered with congealing blood, knives scattered throughout the mess. His straightjacket was   
stained with the crimson liquid; it screamed like a siren in the colorless, bright room.  
  
"Farfie?" I whispered, my voice sounding abnormally loud and out of place. "Are you awake?"  
  
Silence. Shrill, squalid silence shrieking. It pounded into my ears, thudding with my heartbeat as I   
moved closer to my unresponsive teammate.  
  
"It's me."  
  
My shoes squished audibly in the viscous red goo that coated the floor. A mere thought and the   
knives were flung to the other side of the room, falling to the glaringly-white floor with a clatter.   
  
I knelt down, my knees instantly sponging his lifefluid into the grey pants of my uniform. His head   
was bowed, resting lightly upon his chest. Cropped, bleached locks obscured his face. I whispered his   
name again, just a tiny bit louder.  
  
His head jerked up, a black patch and one tawny eye burning me. Wan cheeks were streaked with   
blood, his mouth smeared.  
  
It infuriated me to see those pallid features dyed. Why did they always abandon him like this? He was   
as much a member of Schwartz as any of us. They had no right to leave him like an animal wallowing   
in its own filth.  
  
I pulled out of my pocket the facecloth I'd stolen from the linen closet and carefully wiped the scarlet   
gunk from his face.   
  
He watched me calmly from behind one shuttered eye. I could see that he was sound today, he   
usually was after great bouts of self-maiming. And judging from the copious amounts of blood that   
soaked the floor and his straightjacket, I'd say that he'd done a good deal of slashing.   
  
Sometimes I hated him for doing what he did to himself. Why couldn't he accept that God didn't   
exist? What was the point in trying to make God suffer? A few deaths and some arm-slashings   
weren't going to faze a God who'd seen the deaths of billions since the beginning of time. It was all   
such nonsense and yet I couldn't bring myself to convince Farfarello otherwise. What right did I   
have to take away his one pleasure, the only thing that he believed? Even if it was hacking his pale   
skin to bits. I couldn't argue with him.   
  
"Why do you bother?"  
  
I dropped the bloody cloth in my surprise. I came to see Farfarello everyday after school and usually   
he was either unconscious or gagged or busy ranting about how he was going to hurt God. It was   
strange to hear him speaking rationally. Most of the time I had no idea whether he even recognized   
my presence.   
  
"Nani?"  
  
He tilted his head in the direction of the facecloth. "Everyday you clean me up with that. Why?"  
  
I resisted the childish urge to fidget. A sane Farfarello staring out of one brandy eye was unnerving.   
"Why not?"  
  
His gaze didn't waver. "I only get bloody again. Crawford and Schulderich don't bother. Why do   
you?"  
  
The mention of our other two teammates angered me. "You're as much part of Schwartz as they   
are!" I snapped, chagrined. "They have no right to leave you like this every day. You may be   
unbalanced but that doesn't make you anything less than we are. They way they treat you is   
degrading. It isn't fair to you and I don't like it."  
  
He studied me intently. "Since when do you care what's fair to me?"  
  
Strangely enough, his question made me pause. Didn't he know that I cared for him? He was my best   
friend, the only friend I really had. I came to him everyday, talked to him for hours whether he could   
hear me or not. His presence was comforting because he never made fun of me, never used me. As   
odd as it may seem, I felt as though he understood me.  
  
I hated seeing Crawford patronize him, acting as though the Irish man had no intellect. And I equally   
hated seeing Schulderich taut him into angry rages by playing with his mind. Both of them treated   
Farfarello unfairly and I despised them because I knew the sort of person Farfarello was behind his   
insanity. He didn't deserve any of this.  
  
Farfarello smirked, watching me sift through my thoughts. "Nothing is fair Nagi. You should know   
that by now."  
  
Yes I should know that, shouldn't I? After everything I'd been though, I should certainly know. But   
maybe I was still hoping, still waiting for the day when I wouldn't hurt so much. When I wouldn't   
feel so lost.  
  
"You're the only friend I have," I told him quietly.  
  
One amber eye widened slightly and blinked.  
  
I stared down at the face towel I'd dropped, watching the blood slowly steep into the thick, white   
terrycloth. Tainted by its surroundings. How metaphorical of my own life.   
  
My best friend was a one-eyed, blood-thirsty, God-hating lunatic. And he didn't even know it. He   
couldn't understand why I cared enough to wipe the blood from his face. He didn't know that in a   
world where everyone had only ever scorned or used me because of my powers, I welcomed his   
company. He never teased me about my telekinetic abilities like Schulderich did. He never exploited   
my powers like Crawford did. He didn't looked down upon me because I was the youngest. He was   
someone I respected. Funny that I never told him that he was my friend.  
  
Abruptly I stood, unable to bear that piercing amber gaze any longer. "I'll get another cloth."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The first time I saw Farfarello was in the kitchen. He was sitting cross-legged on top of the counter, a   
pyramid of plum tomatoes stacked neatly beside him, playing with the blender. I stood there,   
watching him toss in a tomato and then randomly select a button. He would watch the blender mush   
the red fruit with an avid, childlike fascination. Then he'd repeat the procedure again and again until   
the blender was overflowing with syrupy, scarlet pulp.   
  
Instantly I was intrigued.   
  
It had been my first morning as a member of Schwartz and I'd been nervous. Crawford had found   
me on the streets the night before, using my powers to fend off a bunch of gangsters who'd been   
trying to kill me. Apparently he'd had been keeping tabs on me for weeks, studying my powers.   
When presented with an alternative to living on the streets and defending myself from gangsters who   
only saw me as a freak, I grabbed it. Schwartz had been the answer to all my problems.  
  
Crawford had been the first person to ever protect me. Before my eyes, he had taken out a gun and   
shot those gangsters as I held them suspended in the air. Then he'd taken me into the safety of his   
limo where I had sobbed onto the crisp material of his white suit as he held me. He had comforted   
me and fed me and told me that my powers were a gift not a curse. I knew that Schwartz only   
wanted me for my powers but at least I *was* wanted. Until then, I'd only lived as a burden, cursed   
and feared and ridiculed because I was different.   
  
No one liked me.   
No one ever cared enough to wipe the tears from my eyes.  
  
Crawford took me home with him that night where I'd met Schulderich. The languid German had   
scared me with his flirtatiousness. His voice echoed in my mind as he read my thoughts and teased   
me. He fawned over me like I was a pet, reminiscent of so many men on the streets. I knew what his   
laugh meant, why his eyes lingered on me. He called me 'bishonen' and I didn't like it. Crawford   
must have spoken to him because he never tried anything with me. But even now, if he looked at me   
a certain way or made some teasing innuendo, I could still feel that old fear creeping up into me as he   
smirked into my mind.  
  
And on that initial night, after I'd taken my first bath in months, they'd both told me about the last   
member of Schwartz. An Irish man who felt no pain and killed people only to hurt God. A one-eyed   
lunatic with a knife fetish who cut his own skin just to savor the taste of blood. They'd warned me   
about how dangerous he was, how he loved especially to kill children. I'd had terrible nightmares that   
night, all filled with a one-eyed man trying to kill me while he hacked his own arm.   
  
I'd expected Farfarello to be foaming at the mouth with bloodshot eyes and long, lice-ridden hair. He   
was supposed to be filthy and ugly, his ravings muffled by a thick beard. He would be just like all the   
crazy drunkards who I'd fled from on the streets, rough and coarse. I knew his type well and the   
thought of meeting him and working with him had terrified me beyond belief.   
  
After waking up from one of the worst sleeps in my life, I headed down to the kitchen, never   
expecting to see the man who'd plagued my dreams first thing in the morning. Sitting on the counter,   
staring at the blender as though it was a TV, he was nothing like I thought he'd be. Certainly I hadn't   
expected him to look so...elegant.   
  
His face was scarred but somehow that added to his beauty. The bones in his cheeks were delicate,   
reminding me of a scratched porcelain doll. He was slender, with full red lips and jagged, bleached   
locks. Even the finger that pressed the buttons on the blender was long and graceful.  
  
I gawked at him, slack jawed. This was the man I'd had nightmares about? This was the man who'd   
frightened me so badly? This was the man who Crawford and Schulderich warned me to stay away   
from? I remember having the inane urge to laugh at that moment. Farfarello the self-mutilating Irish   
man was gorgeous!   
  
And the way he was enthusiastically studying the blender captivated me. There was such an   
innocence in his expression, something that even I didn't have and I was so much younger than he   
was. The fact that this supposedly crazy man looked so childish and na‹ve astounded me. I'd never   
seen this sort of innocence before. Children didn't keep their naivety on the streets but apparently   
this psychotic Schwartz killer had managed it.  
  
The blender overflowed, gunky tomato pur‚e spilling all over the pristine counter and onto   
Farfarllo's pants. He had looked up then, catching me watching him. I blushed deep red, like the   
tomatoes, half expecting him to reprimand me and call me names. Instead, in a rather squeaky voice,   
he'd informed me that smushed tomatoes looked like blood. Then, to my surprise, he'd asked me if I   
wanted to try.  
  
So when Crawford had strode into the kitchen, a good forty minutes later, he found me sitting on the   
counter with Farfarello, happily shoving in radishes and apples and ketchup (we'd run out of   
tomatoes) into the blender. I've never had so much fun in my life. Well putting aside the obvious fact   
that I'd never touched a blender before, Farfarello had wanted me. He'd asked me to play with the   
blender with him. He didn't try to hurt me; he only licked a knife that he'd taken out of the cutlery   
drawer and watched me. He even voiced his approval when I'd found substitutes for the tomatoes   
after we'd run out. I had wanted to please him so much, to have a friend. A friend was something I'd   
longed for but never had.  
  
Both Crawford and Schulderich had been surprised that Farfarello hadn't tried to cut me up or suck   
my blood. He loved to hack up children, saying that their lost innocence hurt God the most. Maybe   
he saw that I wasn't innocent. And besides, I was his teammate now. He couldn't just cut me up.  
  
I'll never know for certain but for some strange reason Farfarello liked to talk me. He mostly raved   
insanely or mouthed off when Crawford and Schulderich were around. But when I was with him,   
he'd explain thing to me, like how sweet blood tasted or where he'd gotten a particular knife from.   
Admittedly his choice in conversational topics left much to be said but I didn't care. He chose to talk   
to me, to tell me these things and that was all that mattered. Even when he went into his crazy spells   
and had to be tied up and stuffed into a straightjacket, he always seemed to recognize my presence   
and never tried to hurt me.   
  
He may be psychotic and evil and everything else that people said of him but none of it mattered to   
me. Above all he was my friend and I respected him. To hell with what everyone else said. In my   
opinion, Farfarello was the best.   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
I set the bucket of bleach down in the bathtub and stuffed the bloody towels into the clear liquid. My   
eyes began to water as the stench of chlorine shrouded me in the tiny bathroom. I wrinkled my nose   
and used my powers to swirl the towels around, watching as the bleach began to take on a red tinge.  
  
I sneezed. Cleaning blood from white cloths was a bitch.  
  
Soft footsteps against the tiled floor alerted me to Crawford's presence.   
  
"Don't bother Farfarello," he ordered. "He's sleeping now. I don't want him causing trouble   
tonight."  
  
I turned to look at the American. "What's tonight?"  
  
"Schulderich and I will be protecting Takatori at a ball." His expression softened slightly. "I don't   
want him hurting you."  
  
"He's never hurt me before," I pointed out, irked. Crawford always saw the worst in Farfarello. Why   
couldn't he see that the Irish man wasn't just a whack job? There was so much more to him. For one,   
Farfarello was smart. He was a genius at math. On his saner days, he'd even help me with my   
homework.  
  
"And I want to keep it that way," Crawford replied firmly. "I understand that you liking spending   
time with him but don't overestimate him. Above all, he's mentally unstable."  
  
"I know, I know," I muttered curtly, turning back to the bucket of bleach. I took out my frustrations   
on the poor towels, roughly dunking them in and out of the odorous chlorine with annoyed   
thoughts. "You've told me that a million times. "  
  
He sighed in a 'troubled teenagers just never understand the wisdom of us older folk' sort of manner.   
"Just heed my warning, okay Nagi?"  
  
I grunted noncommittally. I could care less what Crawford thought. Maybe he didn't notice it but I   
wasn't a child anymore. I wasn't starved for love, I wasn't afraid of him kicking me back onto the   
streets. He couldn't boss me around because I didn't care anymore.  
  
I heard him close the door softly behind me, his footsteps trailing down the hall. "Teme."  
  
The back-to-white towels sailed past me and began to rinse themselves under the faucet.   
  
  
*****************  
~*~Part Two~*~  
*****************  
  
I stared at my computer screen with disbelief. I blinked a couple of times but the e-mail didn't go   
away. No, I wasn't imagining it. Slowly I read it again.  
  
Dear Nagi kun~*~  
  
I'm writing you this e-mail because I'm too shy to tell you this in person. *^^* I really like you a lot. I   
think you're very nice and you're so smart! Your history project was wonderful. :) Anyways, I was   
wondering if you'd like to go to a movie with me sometimes? Please say yes. I really want to get to   
know you better since you're always so quiet in class.   
  
Love from Rin chan~*~  
  
PS- Thanks for helping with question 5 in chemistry class today. I never would have gotten it right if   
you hadn't helped me! :)  
  
Vaguely I remembered Rin. A small girl with dark hair always tied up in a ponytail. She sat beside me   
in chemistry class and was sometimes my lab partner. Whenever I talked to her she always blushed   
and twirled her ponytail around her finger.   
  
A girl liked me. How odd. Almost as though I was a normal boy.  
  
That thought made me snort. I deleted her message. There was nothing normal about me.   
  
I turned off my computer and sat down on my bed to do some physics homework. Time passed   
sluggishly and I got nothing done because of that stupid e-mail. I didn't understand why I kept   
thinking about it. Surely, I couldn't want to go to the movies with Rin chan, could I? Of course not, I   
was merely flattered. Afterall, no one at school ever bothered to talk to me unless it was homework   
related. Everyone knew that I was smart so they asked me for help. But outside of that...  
  
I sighed, shutting my physics textbook. So some twit liked me and wanted to go to the movies with   
me. Big deal. Why should it matter? It didn't. Then why couldn't I stop thinking about it? Who   
knew? Maybe I was going crazy. I must be spending too much time with Farfarello.  
  
Farfarello.   
  
The clock beside me read 7:30. Crawford and Schulderich had left long ago and probably wouldn't   
be back until late. That meant I could do whatever I wanted. I could talk with whomever I wanted to.  
  
I shoved aside all my unfinished homework and left my room.   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Farfarello's room was pitch black since it had no windows. He'd broken his lamp as well as the   
ceiling light in a bout of fierce dementia so I brought a candle with me. I set the lone, white candle   
down on his dresser, which was scattered with knives and bullets and ropes of paperclips. He liked to   
make paperclip chains.  
  
He wasn't in his straightjacket. Instead, Crawford had handcuffed both his hands to the headboard.   
His legs were strapped together with thick, leather straps, ensuring that he would remain in bed.  
  
"Poor Farfie," I whispered, settling down beside the sleeping man.  
  
The flickering flame of the candle cast long shadows over that scarred, ashen face. He looked so   
fragile and serene, lying there all tied up. Certainly nothing like a psychotic killer. I touched his cheek   
lightly, the flesh cool and sleek beneath my fingertips. He really was beautiful. If only...  
  
"I don't know what to do Farf," I told him, smoothing down his cropped locks. "I got an e-mail   
from this girl at school today and it's been bothering me. She wanted me to go see a movie with her   
sometimes and I can't stop thinking about it. I don't know why since it's not like I want to go with   
her. It's so stupid but I keep thinking about it. I wonder what I should do? No one's ever wanted to   
go anywhere with me before. I know that I'm just flattered. I mean I don't even like Rin that much.   
She's basically just a twit."  
  
I sighed, pulling my legs up to my chest and hugging my knees. "I really wish you were awake right. It   
would be much for you to give me advice then."  
  
I smiled slightly at my own little, lame joke, if it could even be called that. Farfarello slept on,   
wandering in some world far away from me.   
  
Nothing ever seemed that bad when I was with Farfarello. His very presence comforted me. I   
suppose that was why I'd spend hours sitting and pouring my heart out to him, whether he was   
conscious or not. Really, he was all I had. Crawford and Schulderich were too occupied with each   
other to care about my problems. I couldn't talk to either of them. It was odd that I came to the   
crazy man to ease my worries instead of to them. But they didn't care.   
  
Maybe Farfarello didn't care either.   
  
I froze, cringing. Hurt welled up at that thought. What if he really didn't care? Farfarello wasn't one   
for words, he only ranted and his rants never included his thoughts on me. I realized now just how   
dependent I was on the psycho. I came to him no matter what. Even to tell him about some stupid e-  
mail I'd received!  
  
I laughed and it sounded bitter and harsh to my ears. Why should I care what he thought? Why did I   
come to him day after day, telling his unconscious form about my day and what I thought? When my   
sleep was tainted with nightmares, why did my feet automatically take me to him? Most of the time   
he could offer me nothing, being mostly sedated or gagged or bleeding. And when he was conscious   
he was either too busy raving about all the pain he was going to inflict on God or he was stone-silent.  
  
Why then did the thought of him being apathetic towards me hurt so much?  
  
The white candle flickered wildly and thunder screamed in the distance. A shudder chilled through   
my body as I stared down at the sleeping Irish man. "What are you doing to me?" I whispered and   
suddenly the room was cold.  
  
Habit took me by the hand and I slowly spooned myself against Farfarello's side, cuddling up against   
his warm body. Only for a few minutes, I told myself.  
  
*****************  
Part Three  
*****************  
  
"Why the hell did you do it?!"  
  
The five year old boy cowered in the corner, his small cheek marked by an angry red hand print. He clutched his   
shaking hands tightly together, trying desperately not to cry. "I didn't mean to otousama. It was an accident. I just-"  
  
The huge man loomed over the boy. "You little liar! I told you what would happen if you ever used those damned   
powers again!"  
  
The boy squeezed his eyes shut as his father came closer. "Onegai otousama. I promise it won't ever happen again. It   
was just that-"  
  
"I'm sick of your pathetic excuses Nagi," came the cold voice of his mother. "I won't have people blaming me for giving   
birth to a freak!"  
  
Tears burned at his dark eyes and despite his resolve not to cry, the salty liquid still splashed down wan cheeks. "Go-  
gomen! O-o-onegai okaasama..."  
  
"Shut up you stupid freak!" That large hand swept across Nagi's small face with such brutal force that his head   
slammed into the wall. "I'll teach you to lie to me Nagi!" He kicked the small boy in his stomach.  
  
"Is this how you behave after all we've done for you?" his mother demanded. "We feed you and clothe you and try to   
give you a good life. Isn't it enough that we put up with a freak like you? And now you repay us by flaunting your evil   
powers around!"  
  
Nagi whimpered, his body crumpling painfully as his father continued to assault him. He had tried to explain to them   
that he hadn't meant to use his powers, that they'd only come out by accident. Four big boys from the fifth-form class   
had been picking on him and calling him names. They would have beaten him if he hadn't thrown the picnic table at   
them. The teacher who'd been on yard duty had pointedly ignored him when the four boys had been about to beat up on   
him but the minute he'd thrown the table in self-defense, she'd grabbed him roughly by his ear and taken him to the   
principal's office. The principal, a close friend to his father, had slapped him hard and then complained to his parents.  
  
Tears brooked down his face and puddled onto the shirt of his uniform. What had he done that was so wrong? Why   
did everyone hate him? Everyday mothers and fathers come to school to pick up their kids. They all looked so happy, as   
the parents hugged their kids and the kids would show their parents drawings they'd made or tests they'd done well on.   
Nagi had drawn a picture for his mother once, hoping that maybe if he gave her something like all the other kids did,   
she would love him and hug him too. She hadn't. She ripped up the picture saying that she didn't want such an ugly   
painting to clutter her spotless kitchen. She had called him evil and his father had smacked him, ordering him never to   
bring home filthy pictures of devilish monsters again.  
  
The picture hadn't been of devilish monsters. He had drawn a picture of his family, with him in the middle and both   
his parents on either side of him, holding his hand. They'd all been smiling, like a real family.   
  
His father yanked him off the floor with one hand, his other hand fisted. Pain burst open from the blow as Nagi's nose   
began to bleed. "I'll beat those cursed powers out of you boy!"  
  
"How dare you embarrass us in front of the whole school like that! You horrible freak!"  
  
Neither of them stopped, their cruel words more painful then their physical attacks. And then came the most   
devastating assault.   
  
"Why don't we just throw the brat out?"  
  
The man stopped and stared down at the sobbing, bleeding little boy. "Now why didn't we think of that before? We   
could say he ran away from home. No one would care."  
  
Frenzied panic grabbed Nagi with icy fingers. No! Surely, surely they didn't hate him that much! His breathing   
hitched painfully as his broken ribs heaved. He clenched his eyes shut as his father reached for him.  
  
It was an accident. Fear trigged his telekinetic powers, strong powers that the five-year old boy hadn't learned to control   
yet.  
  
The powerful force, a product of hysterical terror, exploded from him before he could attempt to control it. His father's   
large form was wrenched back at a shocking speed and the man was crushed beneath the force of striking the fireplace   
across the room. There was sickeningly loud thud as his neck smashed into the edge of the mantle, blood erupting from   
the solid opening in his forehead.  
  
A woman's scream echoed throughout the living room, Nagi traumatized into immobility. His eyes were frozen open as   
he watched his mother kneel beside his father, shrieking and shaking.   
  
Her eyes were wild when she rounded upon her trembling son. "YOU'VE KILLED HIM!!!!"  
  
Nagi couldn't move, he couldn't even breathe. His small body was motionless, save for the thin trickle of blood that was   
oozing out from the cut on the side of his head.  
  
His mother stood, tears dripping down her face, her voice calm. "You've killed your own father. Are you happy now?   
You murderer!"  
  
"Iie." The tiny word spilled from torn lips, black eyes trained on the crumpled form of his father. "Masaka..."  
  
"I should have killed you a long time ago."  
  
His eyes swung to his mother. She had retrieved his father's gun from the desk beside the fireplace. It was cold and   
black in her pale hand. Outside it began to rain, the wind shrieking violently.  
  
"Okaasama..."  
  
She fired, the gun yelling furiously in the small room. The bullet tore through the wall, an inch beside his head.  
  
Nagi screamed then, the anguished sound tearing itself from the very tissue of his lungs. The gun was jerked savagely   
from her hand, the sheer energy of his powers initiating another shot.   
  
The soul-tearing screams continued as another body fell limply to the floor.  
  
"Looks like you've really done it this time bishonen. No wonder you're so frigged up."  
  
The dark haired boy looked up at the sound of the nasally voice, his frantic shrieks dying. Lounging against the living   
room doorframe was a tall, red haired man. "Na-nanda omai w-wa?"  
  
The man stepped into the room, looking around. "First time I've been inside your little dream world brat." He smirked   
down at the bloody bodies. "You sure did a number on them."  
  
Nagi huddled deeper against the side of the sofa. "It...it was an accident!" Tears welled up in huge, ebony eyes. "I-I   
didn't mean to! Don-don't te-tell. I-I..." he broke off, sobbing painfully.  
  
"You really were a cute kids Nagi," the redhead commented. "Too bad you're wailing like a fucking baby."  
  
He wiped at his eyes, trying to stop crying and failing miserably. "Why are you here? What do you want with me?"  
  
White teeth flashed as the man grinned. "I'm glad you asked me that bishonen. Take a look at your lovely mother. See   
who it is that you really love."  
  
Liquid eyes grew confused. "Wakarimasen."  
  
"Go have a look and then you'll understand."  
  
Nagi crawled slowly towards his mother, his body clenching painfully. Everything was hurting so much. One pale hand   
was stretched towards him and it was odd because the hand was wearing black leather, fingerless gloves. "Nani?"  
  
"Look closer little Nagi," the redhead urged, smirking.   
  
Nagi edged closer, dread enveloping him and now he could see. It wasn't his mother that he'd killed. It was a silver-  
haired man wearing an eye patch. His voice was a raspy croak, his entire body shuddering. "Da-dare...?"  
  
"Farfarello." His nasally voice was a jubilant jeer. "You've killed your precious Farfie. How does that feel Nagi?"  
  
Nagi screamed.   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
I jerked upright with a strangled cry, my heart beat leaping into my throat. With a trembling hand, I   
pushed aside sweaty bangs from my damp forehead. Disoriented, I tried to grasp my bearings. I was   
sitting on the bed in a dark room that was lit only with a low burning candle.   
  
I panted weakly for air as a few terse moments passed and then I knew.  
  
A dream. Of course.   
  
"What else were you expecting Nagi?"   
  
That familiar nasally voice.  
  
Schulderich was lounging against the doorframe, the light from the hallway falling upon his vibrant   
locks. Just like blood smearing upon the carpet, just like in my dream. "I didn't know that you offed   
your 'rents, Nagi."  
  
"Stay out of my dreams," I bit out tightly, still wheezing.  
  
He strolled into the room, ignoring me. "Pretty gutsy for a five-year old. Guess you're a natural at   
killing, eh?"  
  
My hands clenched into fists. I blocked my mind from him and refused to answer.   
  
He smirked and idly picked up a random knife from Farfarello's collection. "Truth hurts, don't it   
bishonen?"  
  
"I told you never to call me that," I hissed angrily.  
  
A fine, red brow arched. "Oh? And why not, brat? You are pretty. Pretty little Nagi is growing up."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
He laughed, an infuriatingly condescending sound. "Is that the best you can do? Well I suppose your   
blindingly stupid ignorance can be credited to your little bishonen innocence."  
  
I narrowed my eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?"  
  
"Or maybe you aren't so innocent afterall." He ran one slender digit across the blade of the knife.   
"Tell me Nagi, how does it feel be in love with a complete psycho?"  
  
My heart lurched, tightening painfully inside of my chest. I stared at my older teammate in horrified   
shock.  
  
"You should know by now that you can't hide from me brat. I know everything, even if you don't   
know it." Indolent jade eyes locked with mine. "Nothing in your mind is off limits to me. It's   
painfully obvious that you've fallen head over ass in love with that one-eyed lunatic over there."  
  
No! No, this couldn't be! I won't let it! He didn't know what he was talking about!  
  
"Ah but I do," he drawled out, my mind an open book for him to read in my panicked state. "And   
that's the *real* reason you can't stand it when he cuts himself up or when Brad and I treat him like   
shit, isn't it? It hurts because you love him and *that's* why you think about him all the time and   
spend all your time looking after him and telling him about your little problems and-"  
  
"SHUT UP!" The words exploded from my mouth before I could think another thought. I was   
shaking with pure rage. "Just shut the bloody fuck up."  
  
"And," he continued as though I'd not spoken a word, "It just kills you to know that he probably   
doesn't give a rat's ass about you. Which is more than likely since he doesn't know what love is. But   
you already know that, don't you bishonen?" He smirked.  
  
Farfarello's desk and dresser and bookshelf rattled furiously, the door opening and slamming shut.   
All of Farfarello's knives rattled as my fury swelled, the entire contents of the room shaking.   
  
Schulderich jeered, easily dodging the books that were falling from the bookshelf. "You are so   
fucking pathetic Nagi. Don't you agree with me Farfie?"  
  
I whirled around, the room falling silent and still. One pale amber eye gazed up at me as   
Schulderich's mocking laughter echoed behind me.  
  
He was awake.  
He had heard everything.  
  
Tears were already gushing down my cheeks by the time I reached my room.   
  
  
*****************  
Part Four   
*****************  
  
I alternated between crying miserably, cursing Schulderich to the deepest depths of Hell and stuffing   
my face with M&M's.   
  
"Fucking bastard," I muttered, blowing my nose with one hand while shoving in a fist full of   
chocolate candies with the other. I mopped at my watery eyes with the sleeve of my blue and grey   
plaid pajamas and chewed loudly.  
  
About an hour had passed and I no longer was in a murderous rage. I had liberally decided that I   
would only kill Schulderich and leave his loved ones and any possible offspring the may spawn to live   
as they would. But I still was going to smash the hell out of his car. And ruin all his trench coats.  
  
I pulled my blanket up to my chin and stared blankly at the wrinkled brown M&M wrapper that lay   
on the pillow beside me. I hated him for showing me what I wasn't ready to see. He had no right to   
invade my dreams and ridicule me in front of...of...  
  
"Oh God," I moaned, burying my face into my pillow.  
  
How the hell could I be in love with *him*? He was supposed to be my best friend! I couldn't like   
him in *that* way! Could I?  
  
Okay maybe I could. My feelings for the Irish man had slid from friendship into love at such a slow   
rate that I hadn't even been able to see it. Schulderich had had known, though. He was right, that   
bastard. He was always right. It wasn't fair. I hated him.   
  
But most of all I hated myself. After everything that had happened in my life, after being hurt by so   
many people, how could I possibly have allowed myself to fall in love? I had sworn, on that rainy   
night after I'd killed my own parents, that I would *never* love anyone. I had promised myself that I   
would never burden anyone like I'd burdened my parents. I didn't want to be hurt anymore and then   
hurt others in return. I wouldn't beg for love, wouldn't give love when it wasn't wanted.  
  
And now, with the knowledge that I'd broken all my promises, what should I do? How could I love   
him when all my defenses were shattered? I didn't want to be hurt again.  
  
Schulderich was right. I was pathetic.  
  
I stared up at the ceiling, searching for answers that never came.   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
After school the next day, I didn't go and visit Farfarello. For the first time in months, I went straight   
to my room and stayed there. I sat on my bed, plodding through biology homework, trying to   
substitute thoughts of Farfarello with thoughts of dominant and recipient genes.  
  
I chewed on the tip of my pencil and stared blindly down at my biology book. Needless to say,   
studying was not going well.  
  
"Working hard I see," Schulderich remarked, wandering in.  
  
The pencil in my hand snapped, the very sound of his voice sending me in a fresh bout of anger.   
"You fucking asshole! How dare you come..." Abruptly I trailed off, staring at the German. "What   
the hell happened to you?"  
  
A harsh purple-blue bruise marred one sloping cheekbone.  
  
Schulderich grinned wryly as he closed the door behind him. "Your psycho boytoy didn't take too   
kindly to me fucking around with you."  
  
I gaped at him. "Farfarello *hit* you?"  
  
"And probably bruised a few ribs. He also trashed my CD's."  
  
"I don't believe it," I muttered. Farfarello was crazy but he *never* hit Crawford or Schulderich or I.   
Even in the most severe of fits, he always recognized us and never hurt us.  
  
"Neither do I. I mean, who'd wanna hit a beautiful face like mine?" His touched the bruise and   
winced. "Hurts like a fucking bitch."  
  
I couldn't help but smirk. "Serves you right, retard."  
  
He came and sat down on the edge of my bed. "Listen Nagi, I know you're probably still mad about   
yesterday but you have to understand that I did it for your own good."  
  
"Oh I see. You did it for my own good. And here am sitting around and not appreciating your noble   
efforts. Gee do I ever feel like a heel now!" I glared furiously at him through narrowed eyes.   
  
Surprisingly, Schulderich smiled. "Your sarcasm tells me that you've been spending too much time   
with Bradley."  
  
"Isn't that calling the kettle black," I mumbled, picking up my biology book and scanning it with   
feigned interest. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do so kindly get the hell out of my   
room."  
  
"It must be hard work skimming your bio book."  
  
I looked up and caught his eye. "What the fuck do you want Schulderich?" I demanded coldly.  
  
"Someone had to help you out," he told me calmly. "Who knows how long it would have taken you   
to figure it out."  
  
"So what?" I cried, upset. "It was for me to figure out, not you! You had no right to come into my   
dreams and see...see..." To my immense horror, I found my sight blurred with tears, my throat   
constricting. "J-just le-leave me al-alone!" I turned away from him and buried my face in my hands,   
unwilling to let him see me so exposed. Damn him for making me cry! He was such a bastard!  
  
"Nagi," he whispered in the softest voice I'd ever heard from him, a voice usually reserved for cooing   
Crawford's name. His lanky arm wrapped around me and he pulled me onto his lap.   
  
I struggled frantically. "Asshole! Get your friggin' hands off me!!!"  
  
He tightened his hands into a death grip. "I'm not going to hurt you," he told me firmly. "If anything,   
I should apologize."  
  
That stopped me cold. Schulderich was going to apologize? There was a laugh. He never apologized,   
not even to Crawford!  
  
"Bradley isn't vulnerable. And I didn't hurt him." Long fingers, slid into my hair, stroking gently. "I   
shouldn't have come into your dream Nagi but I wanted you to see the truth. I didn't know how else   
to convince you that you loved him. I never meant to hurt you."  
  
His kindness was so unexpected, so unlike him. I sniffled loudly, feeling like such a baby for letting   
him get to me this way. "I still hate you."  
  
"I know." He wiped at my cheeks. "They aren't worth your tears, Nagi. They deserved what they   
got." He smiled. "Giving up a cute little bishonen like you. What were they thinking?"  
  
I whacked his arm and hiccupped. "Don't call me that!"  
  
He laughed. "Why don't you go now and visit your boi? He must be waiting for you."  
  
I hesitated, confused. "Naze? Everything that you're doing for me..." He really did surprise me.   
Crawford was the one who fussed and worried over me, not Schulderich. It wasn't like him to be   
concerned about me and comfort me. As far as I knew, he didn't even care.  
  
There was a smug smile in the German's voice. "Of course I care for you, brat. Bradley and I are   
practically your parents."  
  
I groaned. That was a decidedly very scary thought.   
  
He shoved me unceremoniously off his lap. "Now get going!"  
  
I stumbled, grabbing hold of my dresser to keep from falling. "But you didn't answer my question."  
  
Green eyes rolled. "You love him! Isn't that enough reason for me to do what I did? Is it so hard for   
you to believe that I'm concerned about your happiness?"  
  
"Yes," I muttered, studying him suspiciously. "You've never cared before."  
  
"How was I supposed to know that it was gonna take you this bloody long to figure out that you   
have feelings for the guy?" Schulderich huffed indignantly. "Best friends my ass! I had to help you   
out because you're so damned stupid!"  
  
"Oh shut up!" I snapped, my temper flaring. "This is so pointless! What do I look like, some kind of   
friggin' love expert? I'm not a cheap floozy like you!"  
  
"Nagi listen," he ordered, his voice straining to keep patient. "All I know is that Farf likes you. You   
know when you first came here and he let you play with his blender? Well that night when I asked   
him what he thought of you, he said, 'I like him.' Farfarello said that! This is the guy who thinks of   
people as big hunks of meat that need carving! He hates everybody and everything. And he said that   
he liked you after knowing you for one fucking day! Do I need to say more, brat?!"  
  
I was stunned. "I didn't know that," I said finally.  
  
"Of course you didn't. Now go!"  
  
"You're so pushy," I mumbled and stuck out my tongue at him. It was childish but I felt better after   
doing it.   
  
  
*****************  
Part Five   
*****************  
  
Farfarello wasn't in the big, white room in the basement nor was he in his room. Instead I found him   
in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. He had a bowl of red grapes on the coffee table   
in front of him and was methodically peeling the skin from them, stacking the thin layers in a neat   
little pile beside the bowl. Then he'd crush the skinless grape between his index finger and his thumb   
and lick off the gushy squashed fruit.   
  
Farfarello had a fetish for red grapes and even though I'd seen him peel and smush them a million   
times, it still made me smile. He so many little quirks, so many things that just *made* him. He was   
so perfect.  
  
"Are you just going to stand there or are you coming in?" he asked me, without looking up as he   
smushed another grape.  
  
I swallowed, his sane voice making me nervous. I had spent all my time looking for him and now   
that I found him, I had no idea of what to say. I was used to blabbing on to a crazy Farfarello but a   
rational one was a whole different picture.  
  
Shuffling in, I gingerly sat down on the far end of the sofa, unconsciously putting as much distance   
between us as possible. I already knew that this was not going to be good. Mentally I cursed   
Schulderich some more. This was all his fault! A manipulative Schulderich was bad enough but   
Schulderich trying to be nice was just plain *terrifying*.  
  
Farfarello held out the bowl of grapes. "Grape?"  
  
I shook my head, feeling dizzy. What did you possibly you say to someone who knew that you were   
in love with them? Especially when he was acting as though nothing was wrong.  
  
He shrugged, unconcerned and went back to slowly peeling another grape.  
  
My knees were shaking. I gripped them with icy hands and commanded my body to stop trembling.   
It didn't work. "Y-you hit Schulderich," was the first thing that heaved itself out of my mouth. My   
voice sounded dry and hoarse. I coughed and cleared my throat.  
  
Farfarello didn't look at me. "He shouldn't have fucked with your dreams."  
  
I didn't know what to say to that. Anxiously, I chewed on my lower lip. Why wasn't he saying   
anything? Didn't he care that I loved him? Obviously not. Why should he? He probably just saw me   
as a bratty little pest who had a childish crush on him.   
  
I was pathetic, so weak. Already my lip was quivering, tears pooling on my lashes. I was such a fool! I   
had told myself that it was wrong to love him and now here I was upset because he was apathetic!   
Where was the logic in that? Why the hell was I crying? I had never been this much of a blubbering   
baby before. Schulderich had made me cry, both last night and a few minutes ago and now here I   
was, once again weeping away.   
  
I turned my head so that Farfarello wouldn't see my tears and took a deep breath, hoping that my   
voice sounded relatively normal. "I better go now. I-I just remembered that I have some stuff to do."   
I quickly hurried to my feet, intending to beat a hasty retreat.  
  
"Was it true?"  
  
Farfarello's slightly high-pitched voice stopped me. "Nani?" I whispered, my heart rate accelerating as   
I surreptitiously wiped at my wet eyes.   
  
"What Schu said last night."  
  
I shuffled my feet and anxiously twisted my fingers. My throat worked as I desperately tried to force   
words around the lump that was constricting in the back of my mouth. "A-a," I finally managed, the   
tiny word barely audible.   
  
The silence that followed was oppressively loud, crashing into my ears and splitting apart my   
confidence. More than anything, I wanted to run back to my room and never come out.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Farfarello slurped loudly at grape-smeared fingers. "Come here Nagi," he instructed, his voice   
deepening slightly.  
  
The sound of his voice sent shivers racing down my spine. Nervously, I turned around and sank back   
down onto the sofa. I tried to appear calm and poised and impassive. But in reality my knees were   
still shaking, my cheeks were probably tear-stained and my heart was thumping so loudly Schulderich   
could probably hear it all the way upstairs. I felt like an anxiety attack waiting to happen.  
  
He said nothing until I hesitantly looked over at him. He was watching me quietly, his amber gaze   
startlingly clear. "Why? Why me?"  
  
Maybe he did care enough to want to know. That was a start, right? I fidgeted as I thought for a   
moment, collecting my thoughts. Then I took a deep breath and opened my mouth. Promptly my   
mind went blank. Farfarello waited expectantly as I floundered. "You let me play with your blender,"   
I blurted out inanely, uttering the first thing that came to my mouth.  
  
He tilted his head and blinked.  
  
Inwardly I cringed at such a stupid, artless reply but it was too late to back down now. I swallowed   
thickly and plunged ahead. "I mean, I've never really had a friend before. You were so nice me and   
never made fun of me or my powers. You talked to me like I was an adult and let me do things with   
you. I don't know, it just happened. I-I didn't even know until Schulderich appeared in my dream." I   
stared down blindly at my lap. "Pretty stupid of me, ne?"  
  
"I'm crazy."  
  
"No!" The vehemence in my voice surprised us both. "No," I repeated in a calmer tone of voice.   
"You aren't crazy Farfie and I'll never treat you as anything less." I looked over at him and held his   
gaze.  
  
I loved him. Schulderich had shown me and I knew it now. The pain of seeing his dead body in my   
dream had been so intense. The dream had shown me that I couldn't live without him. It was all so   
clear now. The line between friendship and love was indistinguishable and it had become a part of   
me. I couldn't stop it and I couldn't deny it. Was I wrong to love a crazy teammate? Possibly. Did I   
regret it? Not anymore. After everything that he had done for me, after all that he was, how could I?  
  
In that moment, as I looked upon that pale, scarred face, lips moist with grape juice, one eye gazing   
coolly at me, I came to accept it. For better or for worse, I loved him and I wouldn't stray from that   
decision, no matter how much it hurt.   
  
"I don't care what doctors label you as," I continued, my resolve allowing me to meet his fixed look.   
"Crazy, psychotic, unbalanced, whatever. To me, none of that matters." I managed a tiny yet strained   
smile. "Because there's so much more to you than all that, Farfie. I'd like to think that I know the real   
you. The one who's a mathematical genius and used to help me with my homework. The one who   
secretly used to listen to opera. The one who played with me-" My voice cracked and I had to clear it   
before I could continue. "on that first day, even when Crawford and Schulderich told me to stay   
away because you were dangerous. You're the only friend I really have Farfie and I...I can't stop   
myself from loving you. Is that so wrong?" I averted my eyes, not wanting to see the expression on   
Farfarello's face. The rejection...   
  
There was a long silence and in those endless moments I memorized every thread of the carpet,   
every scruff on my sock, every crease on my pants. My heart was frantically pounding an endless   
tattoo inside of me, my mind a swimming muck.   
  
"Why do you..."  
  
I looked over at Farfarello, the hesitancy in his voice surprising me.   
  
"...see what no one else sees? How can you..." He was gnawing on his lower lip, something that I'd   
never seen him do before. "I've never been loved before."   
  
I thought of my parents then and how much I had wished they would love me. I smiled brokenly,   
wanted to touch him and assure him that he was loved. "Then I guess we're in the same boat," I   
whispered quietly. "Because no one's ever wanted me either."  
  
He looked at me, studying me as though he'd ever seen me before. "I can't understand you," he said   
at last.  
  
"I can live with that." I fidgeted for a moment. Obviously he wasn't able to accept what I was saying   
and I wasn't willing to risk my friendship with him just because he couldn't understand my love for   
him. "Farfie, I don't expect anything from you, really I don't. I want things to stay the same between   
us. I still want you to be my friend."  
  
"What did you dream?" Farfarello wondered suddenly.  
  
I gawked at him, knowing that I looked like a damn fool but *honestly*. What a time to ask me.   
More than anything, I wanted to run back to my room and have a good bout of self-pity. Inwardly I   
sighed. "I dreamed that I...killed you." I swallowed heavily, unprepared for the sharp thrust of pain   
that the memory of the dream brought.  
  
"Good. God would hurt." The faintest trace of smug satisfaction tinged his voice.  
  
That made my temper snap. I could handle him dismissing me and rejecting my love. I could even   
handle a meddling, do-good Schulderich but I could *not* handle Farfarello placing so little worth   
on his own life. Maybe he didn't understand all the dynamics of love but dammit! He couldn't be so   
thick as to not understand that he was important to me and I didn't want to see him die! "God isn't   
the only one who was hurt," I snapped, scowling. "It hurt me too! I don't want to see you die and I   
don't care how much it hurts God!"  
  
His wan face was marked with surprise. "My death would...hurt you?" He looked incredulous, as   
though such an idea wasn't possible.  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Didn't you hear me when I said I loved you? Of course it would hurt me if you   
died, you idiot!!!" I sighed and softened my voice. "I wouldn't have anyone to talk to and be with."  
  
He blinked, frowning. "I think...I like that."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I think I like you caring about me. It feels nice."  
  
His words were so artless, endearingly sweet. He was a killer and yet he was so innocent. "I love   
you."  
  
Slender, scarred fingers scraped at one sloping cheek. "Does love feel good Nagi?"  
  
I smiled, loving the way my name sounded coming from his lips. "It's better than good."  
  
"Do you think it would hurt God?"  
  
A giggle escaped from my mouth. Talk about a one-track mind! "God has nothing to do with love.   
This is only about you and me."  
  
"Maybe I could try it." He raised his chin and looked firmly at me. "I like you." And he held out his   
hand.  
  
I melted. A huge puddle of Nagi-goo slipping down the sofa, shifting closer to a silver-haired Irish   
man. I cuddled up to him and it was the best feeling in the world, being held by him. We fit together.   
  
He kissed me with moist, grape smeared lips and it was perfect.   
  
Sometimes nothing else mattered  
  
~*~OWARI~*~   
  
  



End file.
